


To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

by orphan_account



Series: Lucifer [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 21:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer wants Castiel to join him, and manufactures a dream so that he can talk to him. Castiel is getting weaker and Dean, Sam and Cas must stop Lucifer before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Can be read on its own but some context may come from part I.  
> There will be a part III.  
> Previously published on fanfiction and livejournal so you may have already read it. It's been tidied up a bit for publication here.

The space is too small for safe flying with all the knives, blades, teeth and claws around so Castiel has to move to his left physically to get to one side of the ghouls. When he’s in position, he nods very slightly to Dean, one-eighty degrees opposite him on the ghouls other side. Dean switches his blade from his right hand to his left, distracting the creatures with a flash of silver as the knife slices through the air, the blade glinting in the flickering light from the torches they’ve thrown on the ground.

Castiel keeps his senses focused on the shadowed crannies in the crypt, listening for movement, making sure there aren’t any more of the foul-smelling creatures lurking invisibly. Although he’s fairly sure they have all the ghouls surrounded it would be inexcusable to let his vigilance slip again. Sam’s nursing a dripping cut across the back of his hand as proof of the power of complacency. Even though it’s not a bad injury, Castiel feels badly about it. Badly, that his concentration dipped for the fraction of a second it had taken; badly that with the waning strength of his grace, he couldn’t move fast enough to prevent it; badly, that he can’t heal it.

Their tactics are working and the ghouls have their attention fully focused on Dean and Castiel and Sam takes advantage from his position behind the ghouls, lying in wait with his back against the damp wall. He takes two huge strides forward and he swings his arm wide casting an arc with the machete towards the ghoul nearest him which is lost in indecision as it flicks its gaze from Dean to Castiel and back again. As its head leaves its shoulders, and it crumples to the ground, the remaining two ghouls set up a screaming, swirling maelstrom of arms and legs in their bid to escape. Limbs flailing and teeth bared, they charge at Dean who has the misfortune of not only being the closest but also happens to be blocking their escape route. 

Castiel and Sam both move forward to intercept at the same time. Each of them finds their target, their blades sinking through bone and sinew in perfect synchronization. Two heads fly off falling shoulders and Castiel flinches as both heads hit Dean squarely in the chest as they continue their forward momentum.

Dean leaps backwards and sideways. “What the freaking gross fuck…” he says with disgust, trying to brush the heads off with both arms as they seem to cling to his chest, defying gravity for a few seconds, before dropping to the floor and rolling away to the side. “Jesus,” mutters Dean, wiping his bloody hands on his jeans as he walks across the crypt to Sam.

As Castiel listens vaguely to the normal post-hunt conversation between Dean and Sam, he takes a final, wary look around. He’s trying not to think too hard about the fact that he has to catch his breath in a way that he’s never needed to before. He’s not expected to participate in the banter and his mind is already on which of his leads he’s going to follow up next on his search for his father, and which one is least likely to be a trap laid for him by his brothers and sisters. He needs to be more careful. The last trip was a close call and he’d barely gotten away. As it was, he hadn’t got away unscathed and he’s stayed away from the Winchesters while he heals. Dean worries about him, something Castiel is still getting used to, and he sees no need to add unnecessarily to Dean’s anxiety. 

It’s a toss-up, at the moment, between Italy, Sweden or Stewart Island. It should be easy, just pick one, but as he thinks about it he starts to get a very strong nagging feeling as if there’s something he really needs to do, somewhere else, and he can’t remember what it is. The feeling increases the more he tries to think about where it is he should be and what it is he should be doing there. It becomes a thrumming under his skin and he can sense something almost tangible just out of reach. 

“Cas. Cas?” Dean says, interrupting his thoughts insistently. Castiel realizes Dean’s been talking to him for nearly a minute, while he hasn’t been paying attention.

“Sorry,” Castiel says, shaking his head to try and clear the odd feeling that is still persistently pulling at him, seeking his attention.

Dean takes a few short steps to come up beside Castiel’s side. He lays a hand heavily on Castiel’s arm and asks, obviously not for the first time, “are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Castiel forces himself to focus fully back to the present, and pulls himself up straight. 

“Geez, Cas. Just answer the freaking question, so I know what the fuck to worry about.” 

Castiel follows as Dean starts to walk away, out of the crypt, ancient dust kicking up under his feet. And then, from one blink to the next, Castiel isn’t in the crypt any longer and it’s snow that’s underfoot, replacing the dust. He’s standing on a mountain top at the highest point on the planet. The air is clear, but thin, so he adjusts his breathing to compensate. It’s freezing cold, so with a brief thought he warms his blood so he doesn’t feel it. 

He’s bemused and on guard as he turns to look around. He didn’t bring himself here. He doesn’t know how he got here. He looks for something, anything, that can tell him what happened and what’s happening now, but there’s nothing but snow and ice and rock. He can hear wind rushing past his ears and in the wind he can hear someone calling his name. Not Castiel, but Cas. It sounds like it’s coming from a long way away but it’s pulling him towards it, a nagging pull like the one in the crypt, as if he’s on one end of a spring stretched to its limit and ready to recoil back.

“Cas? C’mon, man.”

Castiel can feel a hand on his shoulder, gripping tight and shaking him. Another is splayed on his chest over his heart, and he can feel the echo of his heartbeat against it, heavy and tight against his ribs. 

He’s back in the crypt. He can smell the musty air. He opens his eyes, wide and suddenly. He’s lying down, not stretched out and neat, but crumpled in a heap, and Dean is peering at him upside down, on his knees by Castiel’s head, fear plain on his face. 

Castiel sits up. “What happened?” he asks, as in truth he has no idea.

“You dropped like a sack of potatoes. No warning. Did the ghouls do something to you?” 

Castiel shakes his head and stands up, smoothly. 

“So what then? Are you okay?” Dean is brushing dust off Castiel’s coat while he talks, even though they all know it isn’t necessary. Castiel doesn’t comment and he doesn’t move away. He nods. He feels fine, but of course when he tells the brothers that they don’t believe him. 

“I really do feel fine. I don’t know what happened. I was on a mountain. Have I been here the whole time? Physically?”

“Yeah, you were here the whole time. It was only a minute, maybe two. Why?”

“It felt real. But…I must have dreamt it.” Castiel exchanges a look with Dean. Castiel’s dreams aren’t a safe place. 

After a moment, Dean sighs. “That’s not good, is it?”

“It hasn’t been so far,” Castiel has to admit.

“Was he there?”

“I didn’t see him.”

“So, maybe it’s okay then.”

“Perhaps.” Castiel doesn’t really believe that and he knows Dean doesn’t either. 

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” Sam asks, looking from one to the other of them.

Dean and Castiel both look at Sam. “It’s a theory, Sam. We’ll worry about it if we need to.” Dean mutters and walks off. Castiel shrugs at Sam apologetically. If Dean’s decided Sam doesn’t need to know that Lucifer might be nosing around again, it’s not Castiel’s place to tell him. Not yet.

\--xxx—

Although Castiel would normally have left fairly quickly after the hunt, he hangs around and stays close. It only becomes questionable when later, back at the motel, the Winchesters are making a lot of going to sleep noises and movements, and Castiel stays unmoving in the motel room chair where he settled earlier. Dean’s flicking questioning glances from across the room at regular intervals, past Sam’s pottering with laptops and glasses of bedside water and pointed yawns. Castiel always leaves when there’s only one room and he can’t stay any longer without it seeming odd but he doesn’t want to go and disconcertingly and with some embarrassment, he admits to himself that he’s a little scared. He’s not fond of dreaming. He’s even less fond of sudden unexplained unconsciousness.

However, he doesn’t really have a choice and what he’s feeling is ridiculous. With a small nod at Dean, Castiel flies away.

He lands in Kiruna in Northern Sweden and given that it’s February there’s several meters of snow on the ground, ice crystals layered on the top. It’s fresh and dry and Castiel lifts his chin into the breeze, feeling the cold pluck at his skin. Luckily the town is quiet in the early morning dark and no-one notices him in his ridiculously under-dressed state given the temperature is minus 35 Celsius. 

This lead, as with all his leads regarding his father, is tenuous at best and he has to seek out a Sami spiritual man. He has some time to kill. It’s too early and the sun won’t rise for another 3 hours so he finds a seat by a churchyard to sit and wait. 

He likes the crisp cold and he allows his body to feel the temperature, the way it tingles at his nerves, thickens his blood, numbs his fingers and toes. He drops the guards and controls that keep him ambient, just enough, just for a moment.

The very next thing he knows, he’s on the mountain top again. And if it was cold in Kiruna, it’s very cold here, but he doesn’t feel it here because this time he can tell it’s a dream and not real. There’s an iridescence to the light, an artificial feeling to the air, and the snow is soft and fluffy, the snow of his imagination, and not hard and icy as it should be. 

Castiel looks around the dream trying to see if there’s anything that gives a clue as to how he got there. He doesn’t like not knowing. He doesn’t like uncertainty. He’s been a soldier for thousands, millions of years. He likes order and structure. 

Sometimes, not knowing is better than knowing he finds out.

“Hello, Castiel.”

Castiel spins towards the voice, trying to draw his sword from its sheaf at the same time.

“That won’t work here, I’m afraid.” Lucifer is calm and an embodiment of reasonableness. There’s no expression on his face for Castiel to read, though he tries.

“How are you here? How am I here?” Castiel stands up to Lucifer, drawing himself to his vessel’s full height, commanding in his outwardly-visible certainty. He’s still smaller than Lucifer’s vessel and given his true form is also smaller than Lucifer’s, he can’t help but feel intimidated, but he’s determined not to show it. 

“You haven’t slept. I’ve been waiting for weeks,” Lucifer admonishes gently, like he’s chastising a child.

“I don’t need to sleep.” Castiel doesn’t mention he’s been intentionally fighting his recent need for sleep for the sole purpose of avoiding Lucifer.

“Perhaps,” says Lucifer.

There’s a silence that stretches for several minutes, before Castiel asks “What do you want?”

“What, no small talk? No ‘how are you Lucifer?’ No ‘how’s the Apocalypse going?’” Lucifer huffs the tiniest of breaths which Castiel thinks is a laugh, but he’s so adjusted to the reactions of the humans he calls his friends with their exaggerated shows of emotion that he’s not entirely sure.

Castiel doesn’t respond to Lucifer but waits for Lucifer to speak again, and it isn’t long before he does.

“I want you to join me, Castiel.”

“No.”

“You haven’t heard my offer yet.”

“You have nothing I want.”

“It must be frustrating being cut off from the host with limited power?”

“It’s outweighed by the knowledge that the path I chose is righteous.”

Lucifer starts moving closer to Castiel, slowly pacing a circle around him, until he’s within touching distance. Castiel turns to keep facing Lucifer and Castiel sees Lucifer pull a knife from his jacket pocket. Lucifer holds it up to glint in the bright clear sunlight of the mountain top and Castiel can see sigils carved into the blade. With a quick movement of his hand, much too fast for Castiel to react, Lucifer grabs Castiel’s left wrist and pulls Castiel’s arm towards him, and despite his struggles, Castiel can’t release the grip. 

He forces himself to calm down. He doesn’t want to show his fear in front of the devil.

The nick Lucifer makes on his arm is small but painful. He jerks in surprise and Lucifer lets go of his wrist. “You remember my toy, Castiel? If you had the power of Hell, this” and he looked at the knife in something akin to admiration and pride, “wouldn’t be able to hurt you. Join me.”

Castiel holds a hand over the small cut, releasing the fingers briefly, seeing drips of blood and wisps of grace, before putting pressure back over the wound. He doesn’t know how real any of this is in the non-dream world. He needs to get out if he can, but there’s something that’s holding him here; he can feel it. This time, no-one is calling him to pull him back out. 

He looks around feeling for the source of what’s holding him here. It’s weak though and he can’t get a strong enough sense of what it is or where it is. So, he focuses very hard instead on simply not being there. He notices that some of the edges of the dream have become indistinct, shimmying on the horizon. Lucifer looks around and Castiel realizes he notices it too. He has a chance, he can feel the pull weakening. Castiel concentrates harder on waking up; he thinks of Dean.

Lucifer stays his distance out of Castiel’s reach now and Castiel barely hears him as he whispers “think about it, Castiel. The offer is there. All your power back with you. For ever.” 

Castiel’s world goes cold and dark.

~~xxx~~

He’s not sure how long has passed by the time he’s next aware of anything. He can hear voices gradually creeping into his consciousness and he feels fuzzy, slow, exhausted and very, very cold. Opening his eyes is too hard, so he keeps them closed and he tries to concentrate on listening to what’s going on around him, but even that’s difficult.

There’s a general background buzz of people talking and things and people moving around. It’s urgent and hurried but it’s not panicked. Much closer there are some regular and slow electronic beeping noises and one distinct, male voice, quite close to him, having a peculiar one-sided conversation. The language is English though there’s a slight accent to it.

“…got your number from a patient’s phone,” the male voice says clearly in its lilting accent.

There’s an indistinct noise. Castiel tries to listen but then he’s not sure he cares. He thinks, perhaps, he’ll just go back to sleep. It seems safe enough here.

“White male, dark hair, mid-thirties, about 1.8 meters, slim, wearing a suit and a beige coat.”

Castiel’s drifting back into sleep and the voice and its lilting quality are helping. He hopes it keeps talking. 

“Are you his next of kin?”

“…”

“Severe hypothermia. He was found on a bench outside a church and he was hardly dressed for the conditions.”

“…”

“Sir, I understand your concern, but I really don’t think that attitude is helpful. Your brother...”

Castiel succumbs to the allure of unconsciousness before the lilting voice finishes its sentence.

~~xxx~~

When Castiel next wakes up, he’s more aware, but he’s confused. He feels awful and weak and his arm stings. He opens his eyes. The room’s quite large, there’s people moving in and out and the light is bright, but where he’s lying is dimmer. He knows what type of building he’s in even if he can’t remember why. He recognizes hospitals; he’s visited Sam, Dean and Bobby in enough of them to be more familiar than he wants to be with their smell and their noises. 

He’s lying on a narrow bed, wrapped to his neck in warm blankets, a drip snakes in under the layers and into his arm and a slowly-beeping heart monitor is attached by a series of wires that disappear under the blankets and stick to his chest. He tries to remember how he got here and gradually it comes back to him about coming to Kiruna, and about Lucifer talking to him in the dream.

After a ridiculous amount of effort, he manages to rescue one whole arm from the cocoon of blankets before he’s spotted.

The nurse that comes over to tuck him back in talks to him in stilted English, and perhaps he should tell her he understands Swedish perfectly well. “Cas is your name, yes?” Castiel nods. “Your brother’s been calling a lot,” she continues. “He’s very worried.” She sounds somewhat exasperated. Dean can have that effect, Castiel knows.

“I wish to leave,” he says, trying to stop her efforts to re-wrap him. The slightly built, young nurse shouldn’t be able to push him back into the bed and blankets and yet she can, easily. 

After a couple of minutes he stops struggling and the nurse smiles at him in sympathy. “Don’t worry, Cas, I know hospitals aren’t much fun. You’ll feel better in a few hours.” He hopes so. And it is very comfortable and warm and the people are friendly. He feels himself falling back asleep and he doesn’t fight it.

The next time Castiel wakes, he feels almost normal. He’s in a different bed in a dark room but the beeping machines are still there, the drip is still in place, the excessive amount of blankets have gone to be replaced with a more reasonable volume, but the room’s heating is turned right up so that the ambient temperature should be too hot for comfort, though it isn’t.

There’s no one around and this time he intends to leave. His clothes are folded neatly in the corner. Pulling himself upright and out of the bed and its many blankets, he shivers slightly despite the warmth of the room. He disconnects the drip and the heart monitor which sets off a series of loud warnings that make him jump in surprise before he flicks his wrist and everything shuts off. He thinks himself dressed, and he flies to the motel where he left Dean and Sam, landing inches in front of Dean, who’s pacing and talking into his phone.

Dean stops pacing and stares at Castiel, then he hangs up the phone with a brief “I’ll call you back, Bobby”. 

Dean throws the phone on to the table and grips Castiel’s coat where it hangs open at his chest, pulling him in to a clumsy, desperate and completely artless kiss. Castiel waits until the heavy tension leaves Dean, before he kisses him back and it’s not really enough when Sam clears his throat from where he half sits, half lies on the bed against the far wall, and they reluctantly stop.

Dean pulls back from the kiss but not from Castiel. Castiel feels the heat from Dean’s hand on his still too-cold flesh as it’s placed on his side, through his shirt, something tangible and tender despite the fact that Dean is currently yelling at him. 

“Sweden, Cas? What the fuck? You couldn’t have picked somewhere a bit closer?”

“I had to follow the lead I had. Sweden is not that far.”

Dean’s inches from Cas’ face and Cas stands his ground, feeling the anger in Dean’s voice. “For you, Cas. For you. For me it’s a fucking long way and I hate flying.”

“I don’t understand your …”

“The next word you’re going to say, better not be ‘concern’, because really, Cas? I get a phone call saying you’re dying of freaking hypothermia from some hospital somewhere I never even freaking heard of. I’m not allowed to be a little concerned? And how the hell does that even happen anyway?”

“I just let myself feel the cold for a moment. It’s pleasant. It should only have been a minute. I…fell asleep. It was unfortunate timing.”

“Unfortunate timing? That’s a freaking understatement.” Dean takes a series of long calming breaths. “Was it him?”

Castiel nods. “Yes.”

The next words come much quieter, breathed against his neck when Dean leans in to rest his temple against Cas’ cheek “Cas, promise me… promise me you won’t switch off any of your angel mojo. And promise me, no more trips to Sweden or anywhere else more than half a day’s drive away. Promise me.”

“I promise, of course, Dean.”

Sam breaks the awkward following silence when he shuffles upright in bed, swinging his legs over the side, wiping his sleep-creased face with one hand. “What happened, Cas?”

Castiel breaks away from Dean and sits on one end of the second, empty bed before answering, his arms wrapped around himself, still feeling a little cold. 

Castiel looks up at Dean and Dean doesn’t say no, so Castiel tells Sam about Lucifer. Sam’s surprised and as predicted not happy. Anything relating to Lucifer makes him wary and nervous and guilty. “You’ve had these dreams before? You didn’t tell me.”

“They’re not the same, Sam. And before, I was sick. There was no reason to tell you. There was no reason to suspect it might happen again.”

Dean’s been listening standing up, his body still and quiet and tense as Castiel relates what happened. “But he’s not leaving you alone?”

“It would appear not.”

“What does he want?”

“The same.”

Dean nods. “At least there’s less blood this time.”

Sam asks “What’s ‘the same’” still sounding annoyed at being kept in the dark in the first place.

Castiel answers briefly, summarizing. “He wants me to ally myself with him. He will give me all my abilities back. He says there’s no point in saying no.” 

“You must miss having the freaky angel mojo.” Dean’s making a statement, but Castiel knows it’s a question. Dean sometimes just needs to hear people say things out loud.

“Of course I do. I can’t protect either of you to the level I used to. I don’t regret my choices though, even though we failed with what we initially hoped to achieve, we’re still on the right path. I wouldn’t go back and do differently.”

There’s a few minutes silence, while Castiel continues to watch Dean watching him, until Dean huffs out a “Good. Let’s work out how we stop this then. Over breakfast.”

\--xxx—

They’re very early and the diner’s quiet. Dean and Sam order, with Dean ordering something for Castiel even though he knows he won’t eat much. Castiel’s given up arguing. Ever since Dean met Jimmy, he’s insisted Castiel eat something occasionally. Apparently Jimmy spent all of their first evening together eating, complaining that Castiel never ate. Dean seemed to think this was more heinous than all the other problems Jimmy encountered with being a vessel.

“So,” Dean starts, a mouth full of pancake and bacon, “how’s he doing it?”

“Some sort of summoning ritual?” Sam asks.

“Possibly, but unlikely given that my body stays where it is.”

“Witches? I hate goddamned witches.” Crumbs litter the table in front of Dean as he mumbles through his food.

Castiel shakes his head. “Demons may consort with witches but Lucifer wouldn’t. It would be beneath him.”

Dean’s face darkens slightly when he asks “Drugs? You haven’t taken anything have you, Cas?”

Castiel isn’t sure why this keeps coming up, one day he’ll ask Dean again, but today he just shakes his head “nothing besides the painkillers you yourself have given me when the need’s arisen.”

“Well, is there anything we can do to stop it?”

“Not unless we know what’s causing it.”

“So, what the hell are we going to do then?”

“I think I need to look when I’m there.” 

Sam starts just nodding but Dean’s predictably shaking his head, so Castiel continues. 

“When I was in the dream, both times, I felt as if I’d been pulled there and, once there, that something was holding me there, but the first time I wasn’t sure and last time I couldn’t feel enough of it. It was weak and I couldn’t find the source. I need to go there with the sole purpose of looking and finding the source.”

“It’s too dangerous. You’re not doing it. I won’t let you.”

Castiel tenses “You won’t let me?”

Sam stands up in a rush. “Okay, I think I need the bathroom.” He disappears to the back of the diner. 

Castiel turns to Dean, leaning in and hissing in annoyance. “Don’t treat me like your little brother, Dean. You don’t get to say what I do and don’t do. I concede that because of the nature of our relationship you feel your opinions should matter more and perhaps they do, but you do not get to decide what I do with that and you don’t get to dictate.” 

Castiel pauses, glances up to see the waitress giving them a nervous look, and takes a breath, pulling back a little. “I can’t think of any other way to do this and I need your help.” 

Dean’s silent and sulking as Castiel continues. “Do you know how I came back from the dream both times? It was you. The first time, you called me and I woke. The second I thought of being with you and I woke. So, although you may not like it, and I would also prefer a different option, this is our best hope and I think our only one and I need you.” 

Dean lifts his gaze to meet Castiel’s. He’s obviously still not happy even though he says, “then let’s do it.”

\--xxx—

Of course, they don’t know how to initiate it and having no choice but to wait, they head back to the motel. They remove all the wards on the room because they’re not sure if that will prevent the dream from happening and they all feel vulnerable and exposed. They can’t hunt, they can’t leave. If Castiel’s going to fall asleep at any moment with no warning, he needs to be somewhere nothing can happen to his physical self while he does it. Sweden taught them that.

Sam and Dean work out shifts to keep watch for the first time in a long while. And they wait. And wait.

By midnight, Castiel’s won a sizeable portion of Dean and Sam’s clothes, most of their weapons and Sam’s laptop playing poker. All Dean’s got left, in fact, is the Impala, and even though Dean must know Castiel won’t collect on any of his winnings, Dean seems reluctant to bet the Impala.

“We’re going to take you to Vegas when this is over,” Dean mutters. 

Castiel thinks that’s a compliment even though Dean sounds gruff and annoyed. 

“Well, bed time.” Dean looks at his watch. 

Sam’s got the first shift and he pulls out his laptop. 

“Cas, you’re with me. I want you where I can see you,” says Dean. Castiel tenses ever so slightly until Dean adds “please” with an exaggerated stretch of the syllable almost, but not quite, making a mockery of the meaning behind the request. Sam doesn’t look embarrassed so Castiel decides to keep the peace and comply. 

Dean objects to him wearing the suit and coat on the bed and lends him a t-shirt and some sweatpants, though Castiel thinks that they’re probably his now anyway, thanks to his poker success. But once in the bed he’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do, because he doesn’t need to sleep and because normally he and Dean only share a bed for the purposes of sexual intimacy, which with Sam in the room, he hopes isn’t going to happen. So he just lies there, and he’s surprised when Dean drapes an arm over his chest, not cuddling by any stretch of the imagination, given the few inches of space that lie between the rest of Dean’s body and his own, but comforting none-the-less. If Lucifer really wanted to find a weakness in Castiel, something he’d lost when he became separated from Heaven, it wouldn’t be his loss of power, it would be his loss of companionship, and fellowship and of being loved. It would be this. Lucifer is unlikely to understand that concept.

\--xxx—

“I thought,” said Lucifer, “we might start with a chat about flying.”

“Flying?” Castiel feels as if he’s catching up on the conversation, as he’s only just realized he’s back on the mountain. No gentle lead in this time, but there, solid, as real as it’s ever seemed. The pull that he sensed before, that holds him there, is stronger. 

“Hmmm. The most fundamental of an angel’s abilities.” Lucifer is circling behind Castiel and Castiel turns quickly to keep his back, and his wings, away from Lucifer. He’s not sure he likes where this might be going. And he has to look for the source of Lucifer’s power over him, so making sure he’s facing Lucifer, he backs away, walking sideways, and backwards and around, keeping Lucifer in sight at all times, but searching while he goes. Not just with his eyes, but with all the angel senses that he still commands.

Lucifer stops and watches, interested, as he continues his conversation. “Do you know Castiel that you will gradually lose the ability to fly?” Okay. Gradually. That’s good, Castiel registers. That means Lucifer isn’t about to cut his wings away from him. Though he hadn’t thought he might lose the ability to fly. He likes flying and he hates travelling by car. 

As he moves further away from Lucifer, the pull into the dream seems less. That’s odd. Or maybe not. He moves closer to Lucifer again and feels it re-assert itself. For the first time, he wonders if Lucifer is really there, physically, even though he’s fairly sure he’s not but he doesn’t know how he can tell.

He’s examining Lucifer, and Lucifer is still talking about flying. “What will you do when you can’t fly, Castiel. What will you do when you can’t fly and when Dean is dead? Dean will be in Heaven and you will be on Earth and you will have given up everything to scratch an itch for what counts as a blink of an eye in an angel’s lifespan.”

Castiel is circling Lucifer now while Lucifer turns to watch him, but he feels the tables turning. He feels Lucifer’s discomfort. And he thinks he senses…something. He’s not quite sure, but he’s almost sure…

Lucifer keeps talking “I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. You can have Dean. For ever. Not even in Hell. But here on Earth. And you’ll still be able to fly. And you’ll command a garrison of my best warriors. What do you say, Castiel?”

Castiel had stopped listening a few minutes ago. He could see it now, a medallion, a gold sigil, hanging under Lucifer’s shirt. It glows slightly as he gets close and he’s not sure how he missed it before. Castiel’s hand subconsciously goes to his neck, feels the amulet he wears, Dean’s amulet and when he touches it, he hears a voice calling him, distant, from outside the dream, over and over. He backs away from Lucifer. Lucifer maintains an even distance and starts to move towards him. 

“I’m disappointed in you, little brother.”

Castiel just manages “don’t call me brother” before Lucifer is so close he can feel his body heat, and the sigil is glowing bright yellow light, yanking at his grace, pulling it against the flesh it’s imprisoned in, stretching it as if it was on a rack. As if he was on a rack. He drops to his knees and cries out and even though he knows it’s just a dream it seems his body doesn’t.

He wants to wake up but he can’t, and he starts to panic because he can’t fight against the pull of the sigil burning brightly visible under Lucifer’s shirt, like a magnet that draws him to it. And there’s no denying that it hurts.

Lucifer is right up close and in his face, hissing and spitting. “You’re not going anywhere just yet. I haven’t finished. You can’t stop this Castiel. You must join me. It’s your only option, don’t you see. You think I’m going to tear your wings from you. But I don’t have to. You will be a useless human husk soon enough unless you join me. Think about it, Castiel.” Lucifer backs off, and Castiel falls back, breathing again as the influence of the sigil gets weaker and weaker the further Lucifer goes.

“Cas?”

“Dean.” It comes out as a croak and he struggles to stay conscious, wanting nothing more than to sleep. He’s so tired. He reaches for his grace and it’s all intact, but seems illogically sluggish and slow to react. There’s a hand holding his and he wraps his fingers tightly around it. He opens his eyes through heavy lids and Dean and Sam are both peering at him anxiously.

“Cas, are you okay? You look…” Dean doesn’t finish.

“No,” is all he manages before sliding back under the surface into sleep.

Five minutes later, he wakes with a fright. He’s sitting in the shower at the motel being sprayed in cold water. Coughing and spluttering, he forces himself to fly the few feet out of the water, semi-collapsing to sit on the tiled floor, glaring at the backs of Dean and Sam.

“What the hell?” Dean’s twisting round as he speaks, catches sight of Castiel and crawls the minute gap across the floor to reach him.

Castiel’s not done glaring and he gives Dean the full mojo’ed up angel of the lord treatment, spluttering, “what are you doing to me?”

“Waking you up.”

“I wasn’t dreaming” he spits out, exasperated.

“We didn’t know that…how are we supposed to know that? You wouldn’t wake up.” Comes Dean’s equally exasperated response, quickly followed by, “are you okay?”

Castiel is not feeling gracious enough to answer. Stirring his grace into some form of wakefulness, he dries himself and the t-shirt and sweatpants he’s still wearing, which helps his mood slightly.

“I’m … tired,” he grumbles, lifting himself from the floor, wincing as he feels the ache in his muscles and bones where his grace has fought against the confines of his vessel. It’s worrying him somewhat that he can still feel it here in the real world. When he wobbles on his feet slightly, Dean and Sam each take an elbow and help him out of the tiny bathroom back into the main room.

They don’t even make it across the room before Castiel stops, and stiffens, sensing something. He listens with more than his ears, feeling his way beyond the confines of the room.

“Wha…?” Dean starts.

Castiel holds a hand up briefly, head tilted to one side.

“Cas?” Dean insists.

He turns quickly to Dean. “We have to leave now. We are being pursued.”

To their credit, Sam and Dean never waste any time with pointless questions. Their bags are always almost ready to go and they fling in the few remaining items. Castiel changes back to his usual clothes with a thought. They’re in the car in less than three minutes.

“What was that, Cas?” Dean adjusts the driving mirror so he can see Castiel in the back seat.

“Angels. Hunting us. They were close, but …”

“We have the wards on our ribs”, Sam interrupts.

“Indeed. But I don’t. We mustn’t stay in one place for too long.”

“We’ll keep moving around, Cas. It’s not a problem”, says Dean, making it sound easy and matter-of-fact, but his fingers are wrapped tight around the steering wheel.

\--xxx--

Castiel tells them that distance is an abstract concept to angels and it doesn’t matter if they only travel twenty miles, as long as they aren’t where they were, but Dean isn’t happy with that as a working theory and he drives for most of the night. 

Castiel tries to stay awake, but he ends up sleeping fitfully on the back seat, more tired than he’s ever felt. He doesn’t like it any more than Sam or Dean do, but he’s tried biting his lip, pinching himself, lying on something sharp and uncomfortable and nothing is keeping him awake for any decent amount of time. During the in-between times when he is awake, he casts his mind out and checks for his brothers and sisters. He can feel them on the periphery if he really tries but not anywhere close.

They finally stop at a motel on the outskirts of a large town. It’s as good as anywhere else and Dean’s exhausted from driving all night. He flops onto the nearest bed as soon as he’s in the room, and not long afterwards he’s gently snoring.

Castiel sits on one of the chairs near the room’s small table holding his head in one hand briefly before looking up at Sam.

“Sam, I believe we can stop this. I need your help.”

Sam drags up the second chair, folding his large frame into the small seat. “Anything, Cas. What do we need to do?” 

“Lucifer is wearing a medallion, carved with an intricate sigil in gold. The sigil is complex and powerful. It’s trying to build a connection with my grace. Lucifer is trying to bind me to him.”

“Can he do that?” Sam asks with a worried expression. “Without your consent?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“What does that actually mean? You’ll be on his side?”

“If I refuse to join him, which I will, he won’t be able to command me to do anything I don’t want to do, but he’ll be able to keep me weak and useless to do anything against him either. Or to act to help you and Dean.”

Sam looks at Castiel appraisingly. “He hasn’t already done something has he? I mean you’re not exactly all powered up right now.”

Castiel shakes his head “No he hasn’t. It’s just exhausting fighting against it and I’ll only be able to keep it up for so long.”

Sam looks thoughtful but not happy. “So what do we do then? Does that mean we need the medallion? I’m not sure how we even start going about getting something Lucifer has wrapped round his neck in a dream.”

Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t believe we need the medallion. I think we can counteract its effects.”

“How?” Sam leans in, interested.

“I can create a sigil that will negate the pull of Lucifer’s.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yes. It’ll be complicated, but, yes.”

“So, it’s like an antidote? Or anti-venom?”

“More like alkaline to neutralize acid, or water to dilute bleach. It doesn’t cure it as much as cancel it out. Make it weak and useless. When we find the right one, it will always work for that spell.”

“What do you mean ‘when we find the right one’?”

“It will require a little trial and error” Castiel admits, reluctantly. “I only know the general principle of the sigil Lucifer’s using. If I knew it exactly, I could get our sigil right first time, but he’s wearing it under a shirt and I can’t make out the level of detail I need.”

Sam looks a little daunted and uncertain, and glances across to Dean, before returning his attention to Castiel. “I’m not sure he’s going to be happy about this but I guess we should get started. What do you need me to do?”

Castiel works silently on the sigil, asking Sam to check some things for him, but more usefully getting Sam to work out how to put all the different sigil designs together so that they’ll fit on his body easily, an arm or his chest or back.

They’re both engrossed in their activity when Dean wakes up a couple of hours later. His head appears over Castiel’s shoulder peering at the patterns across the table, in chalk and on paper. Sam explains what they’re doing and Dean looks skeptical. “Do we know this will work?”

“It might not. We won’t know until we try it” Castiel looks up.

“Please tell me you don’t mean ‘try it’ as in…”

“I have no other way of testing it than to be there.”

“Cas, I was calling you for half an hour this time before you woke up. Then you passed out. And now you look like crap. How do you know we can even get you back next time?”

Castiel looks at Dean and decides there’s something he can do. It’s intimate but Dean doesn’t need to know that. Something that is a declaration of trust beyond any such declaration he’s ever made before to any individual of any species. And ‘ever’ is a very long concept to Castiel. He stands up and heads towards the bathroom, his steps tired, but his resolution strong. 

“Where are you going, Cas?” Dean asks, taking a step after him.

“There’s something I need to do. I won’t be long. I’ll explain then.” He enters the bathroom and shuts and locks the door behind him.

The tiny glass vial that appears in one hand a moment later is intricate and artfully beautiful. The metal parts around the glass shimmer in the same way as his sword. But the glass itself is dull and gives a sense of being incomplete. The blade that appears in his other hand, in comparison, glints with something alive and powerful. Castiel takes the small metal lid from the vial and places it to one side. He finds somewhere to sit where he won’t fall and takes a deep breath. He has to get this just right. Too much and he’ll be permanently debilitated, too little and it won’t work. He removes all the clothing on his upper body to make it easier.

He bites down to silence a groan of pain as he pushes the blade he holds into a particular place in the center of his chest, skirting the side of his sternum, between two ribs, not far enough over to reach his heart, but deep enough to reach the center of his own essence. Around the blade, blood and grace stream from the wound and Castiel starts chanting. A lot of blood and grace is lost by the time the grace changes from an uncontrolled stream to something like a snake that focuses and seems to be searching for something.

Castiel removes the blade and keeps chanting. The blood flows more freely, the grace though is cut off. Only the grace in the room still exists and weaves around him in tendrils, clinging to him. Castiel’s chanting becomes faster and more urgent. He’s underestimated the amount of time this would take. He’s losing a lot of blood and until he’s done, he can’t heal himself. The snake that is his grace starts to move away from him, poking into other corners of the room. He changes the chant and starts to direct it towards the vial. It pokes an end in to the vial tentatively, almost as if it’s alive, and nervous, and in a way it is. Castiel changes the chant again, encouraging it, supporting it, telling his grace that the vial is safe, that that’s where he wants it to go. His grace moves into the vial.

Once it’s in, he reaches over and seals the lid. Leaning back, he takes a few breaths, pressing his hand over the wound in his chest to stop it bleeding. Healing it properly proves to be beyond him so he settles for what he can manage and tapes on a dressing from the first aid kit that’s sitting on the bathroom counter before pulling his shirt on again over the top. 

He feels only positive sensations from that piece of him that’s now in the vial. It’s comfortable enough in its new home, reflecting his sense of self back to him. He wonders if Dean will be able to sense any of it and it’s suddenly very important to him that Dean will be able to feel everything the vial of grace has the potential to offer, though he holds no real expectations.

Sam and Dean both look at him expectantly when he emerges slightly woozy from the bathroom. 

When he gives the vial of grace to Dean, and Dean hangs it round his neck, Castiel tells Dean, “you must keep this with you always, and keep it safe. You’ll be able to use it to tell if I’m dreaming or not. When I am dreaming, I’ll be able to use it as a focus point so that when you call me back, I should find it easier and quicker to return.”

“Um, okay. How will I know it’s working?”

Castiel pulls Dean’s gaze to his, blue eyes made a duller grey by exhaustion. “You’ll know. If you don’t feel anything, you never will and we’ll find another way.”

Dean concentrates and Castiel hides a smile at the way Dean’s face screws up slightly. 

Dean’s face starts to get thoughtful and his eyes start to widen in surprise but he’s a bit unsure when he says “it feels …”. Dean looks up in alarm and he asks, “what did you do?” 

Before he can react, Castiel finds his arm gripped in Dean’s hand and he’s dragged across the room to a bemused look from Sam. Dean’s undoing Castiel’s shirt under his tie. Castiel’s staring in surprise at Dean as he works roughly, his fingers finding the wound on Castiel’s chest before looking up to glare at him disbelievingly. “Why would you do that, Cas?”

“I … it’s…you shouldn’t have known that. How did you know that?” Even though he’d wanted Dean to feel him through his grace in the vial, he hadn’t expected this.

“Hell, I don’t know. What the fuck, Cas?”

“Well,” he says ruefully, accepting it before Dean does. “I think this might affect my ability to beat you at poker.” 

Dean huffs a small laugh in disbelief. “Yeah, it might at that. Now let me look at that hole in your chest if you’re not going to bother healing it.” 

~~xxx~~

Castiel and Sam continue working on the sigils. At one point, Dean reaches for the vial containing Castiel’s grace “I felt that.” He’s tentative, but Castiel’s head snaps up.

“What did it feel like?”

“Like it wanted to run away and hide to be honest. Does that make sense? That’s not what you’re feeling is it?”

Castiel shakes his head. “The grace in the vial is reacting instinctively. It doesn’t have any intelligent thought to temper the feeling or put it into the necessary context. I feel…unease, but not like I want to run away or hide.” 

Castiel looks at Sam. “We can use this to get the sigil close to what we need.”

Sam nods in agreement. “We need to do a couple of benchmark tests though…like a polygraph. Give it something we know the right and wrong reaction to.”

Castiel turns to Dean. “You have to tell us what you can feel. Are you ready?” 

Dean nods and Castiel places a knife on his thumb and slices to draw blood. He draws a simple sigil on the table top. “Well?”

“Disgust,” comes Dean’s confident response. 

Sam raises an eyebrow and Castiel allows a small smile. “Lucifer.”

Castiel draws another simple sigil, squeezing his thumb to get the small amount of blood necessary and looks to Dean for his reaction. 

Dean looks at him oddly and he looks reluctant to speak but eventually he just says, “I didn’t know, Cas.” Castiel shakes his head, looking at the sigil on the table that simply says ‘Heaven’. 

Castiel looks away and down. “As I said, Dean. The grace in that vial doesn’t have anything other than pure animalistic instinct.” He turns to Sam. “We can use the reaction for general principles, nothing more.”

“Better than nothing, huh?”

“Yes. Better than nothing.”

Sometime late in the afternoon, they call a halt. They’ve probably gone as far as they can with this version of the sigil anyway. Dean’s bored and hungry and irritable to the point where his senses of Castiel’s grace aren’t as reliable as they need to be. Castiel is much more tired than he wants to admit and is pleased that Dean can’t distinguish Castiel’s feelings from his own at the moment. 

They’re waiting for Lucifer to make the next move and are helpless until then and all three feel it. They’re frustrated in their self-imposed prison. They’re still exposed to all the evils of both Heaven and Hell and are tired with the constant vigilance required. The sigil they have is carved into Castiel’s palm, and halfway up his forearm. Sam’s taking the opportunity to sleep.

Now all they can do, yet again, is wait.

\--xxx—

“Castiel, have you thought about ….” Lucifer doesn’t finish his sentence, but snorts and sniffs and Castiel knows he can sense the sigil on his arm and hand. 

“Is something bothering you, Lucifer?” He’d be smug if smug is a luxury he permitted himself.

“Very clever, Castiel. But then you always were the smart one with sigils and rituals weren’t you?” Lucifer comes closer, and starts smiling, the medallion under his shirt glowing so bright that his whole shirt lights up. “But mine’s stronger it would seem.”

“Perhaps, for now.” Castiel says, tracking Lucifer’s movements closely, watching and waiting as he gets closer still. Castiel can feel the power of Lucifer’s pull now, and although the sigil on his palm and arm is diluting some of the effects, Lucifer’s pull seems stronger this time and it’s nowhere near enough. 

Castiel can feel his grace slowing in response to Lucifer’s sigil. He’s losing power and energy. He’s losing the very will to survive, and Lucifer isn’t even trying to persuade him to join him this time as much as trying to overpower him and the magic he brought with him. Castiel falls to the ground. He can’t help it; it’s overwhelming; all-consuming. His grace flutters weakly in his chest, balled up and trying to hide inside him. 

In a blink, Lucifer’s standing over him, his hand moving up and down Castiel’s chest seeking where his grace hides. Castiel tries to control the ache against his ribs, as Lucifer tries to tease a strand of his grace from him through his ribcage. White light flashes in his vision, spots dance in front of his eyes. He feels the cold of the mountain and the thinness of the air as he puts all his strength into resisting Lucifer. He focuses hard on the voice that’s calling to him, desperate, needy, and something else too, that his terrified grace reacts to, seeking the other half of itself that will make it whole.

\--xxx—

Dean is frantic. He’s swearing and he’s yelling, fear rampant and obvious in his face, his hand gripping Castiel’s so tight that Castiel winces as he opens his eyes, then he’s lifted into a hug so solid and crushing that in his befuddled state he wonders what’s happened. Maybe Sam has been injured?

So he asks. “Sam? Is Sam okay?”

Sam’s voice comes from nearby, nervous. “I’m here. I’m okay. Um, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your brother seems upset. I wasn’t sure…”

Sam actually laughs at that, in surprise. Castiel thinks he’s missing something, but that isn’t unusual. He twists a little in Dean’s grip, but is exhausted and he can still feel the pain in his chest where Lucifer tugged at his grace. He wants to curl up and sleep and forget. He does think there’s something he should be doing. Something about the sigil. Something important. His chest feels tight, his ribs aching, his heart too fast. Something important about the sigil. The sigil on his palm. What is it? Lucifer. His thoughts are becoming random interspersed with pulls on his grace from all directions inside and out; he wants to sleep; he needs to sleep. The chest he’s lying against is warm; the arms are safe. He closes his eyes and he sleeps.

When he wakes up some time later, the pain in his chest is a dull ache and he feels exhausted. The room’s dark. The TV is on low, some mundane soap opera that he vaguely recognizes. Sam’s by the table with his laptop. Dean’s on the bed beside him, watching him, not the TV. 

“Cas?” Dean’s hand reaches up to stroke his cheek with a calloused thumb, and Castiel closes his eyes again, feeling the warmth of the touch.

“Hello, Dean.”

Castiel hears the legs of Sam’s chair scrape on the hard floor as Sam gets up and walks over to the bed. Dean swings his legs around to sit up properly, feet on the floor.

Dean waves the vial at Castiel. “This says you’re tired and sore. So, how’re you feeling and don’t lie.”

“Tired and sore”, Castiel concedes.

“Hmph.” Dean sounds as if he expected an argument and is disappointed he doesn’t get one. “What happened, Cas? Didn’t it work? Little Cas in here was fucking terrified.”

“It started to work, just not anywhere near well enough.” Castiel pushes himself slowly up on the bed, wincing as he does so. Dream or no, the pull on his grace is real, existing as it does between planes. “Lucifer is getting stronger each time he uses his sigil. Ours needs to be stronger still. It needs to be absolute. We had him nervous though. All he was interested in was breaking the power of our sigil.”

“Then, do you know what to do?” Sam asked.

The memory of what it is that he needs to do to fix the sigil comes back, clear and strong. “I do. Let’s get started.”

Sam and Castiel sit together at the motel table while Castiel draws a series of interconnected sigils that enhance and support the existing one. Castiel watches while Sam repeats his sketches, tracing them out on thin paper with heavy black ink, making sure he’s accurate as Sam and Dean are going to have to help him trace them into Castiel’s skin, into the parts he can’t reach. It’s taking a long time and Castiel can see Dean out of the corner of his eye, pretending to relax and watch the TV from the bed, but fingering the tiny vial of Castiel’s grace.

Eventually, he finds himself losing concentration and he wants to sleep again. He’s having to go back and rethink over parts of the sigil three or four times before he’s happy. Sam’s looking worried and he keeps patting Castiel’s shoulder and telling him he’s doing a great job, something that Castiel finds annoying and patronizing. He knows he’s just annoyed at himself really though. He’s snapped at Dean’s attempt to be supportive twice and eventually Dean just threw his hands up and backed off to go back to his position on the bed. But at last, he thinks it’s done and doing a very human thing, he rests his forehead on his arms folded on the table. He thinks they should probably move motels as they’ve been here for long enough; he’ll tell Dean and Sam in a minute when he’s just taken a moment to rest.

~~xxx~~

He’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but Castiel wakes up lying in bed again, but it’s a different bed in a different Motel. He doesn’t remember how he got there. Dean’s hand is on his shoulder and he’s awake because Dean’s shaking him gently.

“Cas, we have to do this. We can’t wait any longer. We don’t know how long we’ve got. I don’t want you going in there again without it.”

Castiel fishes around in his semi-focused brain for what Dean might possibly be talking about. Oh, yes, the sigil. He nods his head briefly on the pillow to show he understands before levering himself upright and croaking out, “where are we?”

“When we couldn’t wake you, we thought we’d better move again given our angel radar was turned off. We didn’t know if Little Cas would give us any warning or not.” Dean gently fingers the vial while he speaks. Castiel looks at it in curiosity and wonders if Dean and Sam had genuinely thought of moving themselves or if Dean had picked up his thoughts from earlier. He’s a bit surprised by the strength of the connection and he’ll probably ask for the vial back when it’s fulfilled its use here. Dean’s probably uncomfortable with it, too.

They sit in the bathroom to carve the sigils as it’ll be easier to clean the blood away. They can’t all fit in to the cramped space so Sam and he are in there and Dean hovers in the doorway. Sam works his way carefully along Cas’s arm, starting where the original sigil left off, just below the elbow. Sam quickly covers Cas’ forearm, not cutting too deeply, just enough to scratch and draw blood through the thin capillaries near the surface of the skin.

When the sigils are only half done, when they’re still broken and incomplete, Castiel finds himself again on the mountain. Lucifer is right up close and in his face immediately this time, the medallion glowing bright, and Castiel doesn’t even have time to think before he drops to his knees as it claws at his grace. 

Castiel’s sigils aren’t finished and half finished might as well be not started for all the use they’ll be.

Lucifer seems surprised not to have to battle counter rituals and he draws back. Castiel drops to his side and rolls onto his back, a dizzy mix of momentary release from the pain and lightheaded exhaustion.

Lucifer’s talking and Cas realizes he’s missed most of he’s said “… join me. What do you owe them?”

“They’re my friends,” he hears himself say, pushing up on one elbow, then following through with an unsteady stumble to his feet. 

“What do you know of friends, Castiel? You’ve given up everything for them. For your precious Dean. What have they, what has he, ever given up for you? You’re a tool. You’re useful to him. When you’re not useful anymore, then what?” 

Castiel doesn’t deign to answer.

Lucifer walks further away, his back briefly to Castiel before he turns, sneering but patient. “Where are your friends now? Join me, Castiel. Think what we could do together.”

Castiel speaks an octave lower than normal. “I will never join you, Lucifer.”

“Do you think he’ll miss you if you leave and join me? Your Dean? Michael’s vessel? Do you think he’ll mourn you for long if you don’t come back from this? Maybe for a day or two, until he gets drawn in to the next bar or the next drink or the next sexual encounter.” 

Lucifer flickers away and Castiel, panicking, searches for him for what can only be a second before his back arches and he twists and screws up his face in pain as the voice comes from right behind him. A strong hand reaches around his upper chest and clings to him tightly in a parody of comfort, holding him up when all he wants to do is fall. 

“Dean doesn’t love you, Castiel. Hell, he probably doesn’t even like you. He wants you there to protect his brother and look at you, that’s just what you’re doing. He’s got you wrapped around his little finger. You think he cares even one iota if you live or die?” 

Castiel can feel Lucifer’s damp breath against the back of his neck as he squirms, fighting for release.

“Leave him alone you asshole.”

Lucifer releases his grip on Castiel, letting him drop, and Castiel rolls onto his back his head twisting to see where the voice has come from.

Dean stands to one side, shaking with fury. Castiel groans in dismay. He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t know how he is here. Castiel tries to raise himself up off the ground as Lucifer turns into the voice, excitement and eagerness in his step, smelling opportunity. 

Castiel croaks out a desperate plea “Dean”, and one arm reaches out as he struggles to pull himself up, his eyes imploring. 

All Castiel knows, all he can focus on, is Dean needs to leave. He doesn’t know how he’s here but he needs to not be here.

He makes it to his knees. Dean is keeping Lucifer at bay, taking a wide arc to walk round to where Castiel is. Lucifer has stopped walking towards Dean. He’s amused, he’s waiting, he’s watching. Castiel doesn’t know if Lucifer can do anything to Dean here, but he doesn’t want to find out. It takes all his strength to stand and his stumbling, half-upright gait drags him towards the devil, blessedly distracting him from Dean. Except that Dean keeps coming towards Castiel, despite Castiel’s shooing away motions, until he’s next to Castiel. Dean wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist to hold him up and whispers insistently in his ear while they back away.

“Cas. You know he’s talking a load of crock right? I do…you know…what he said. About me not liking you. You know that right?”

Castiel croaks in disbelief. “This is the most important thing you can think of to talk about right now, Dean?”

“Maybe not, but you know that right?”

“Not now, Dean. Can we work out how we get out of here?”

“Already in hand.” Dean grabs Cas’s sleeve and rolls it up. Castiel follows his gaze and he gets it. The incomplete sigils cut into the flesh are growing, are being added to as he watches and as he focuses harder, more appear, the cuts become more real, more certain, the blood flows more readily, and he realizes that Sam is still cutting the sigils into his arm as he sleeps in the motel room in the real world and as he concentrates he can pull the sigils into the dream with him.

Lucifer realizes it too and he appears suddenly in front of Castiel, grabbing his wrists, breaking his concentration as his grace yet again strains painfully against his chest, stopping the sigils appearing in the flesh.

“Hey, you bastard!” Dean rushes at Lucifer, bowling into him from one side and knocking him off-balance. Castiel drops to the ground and grips his wrist. He focuses on the sigils, he wills them to form quicker. Lucifer’s still too close and the effect of his proximity is making Castiel’s focus shift and waver, but the sigils are still coming. Castiel doesn’t know if Sam’s finished them and he only needs to pull them onto his flesh, or if Sam’s still feverishly carving back in the motel room. He hopes it’s the former because they’re nearly there, nearly complete.

Only the sigil that makes his name is still half-realized when Lucifer is back and standing over him. Lucifer leans down to grab him and haul him up, and Castiel can’t see what Lucifer can hope to achieve now, until Lucifer pulls him into his chest in a violent embrace, Castiel’s collarbone right up against Lucifer’s sigil through the thin material of both their shirts. 

Dean’s screaming from further away, incoherent sentences of rage and hatred. Castiel starts to feel his grace pulling out from Jimmy, light starting to seep through his eyes and mouth and ears and all he knows is he needs to finish that last sigil. 

Lucifer’s hold is now less about binding and more about death. He’s not naïve enough to think that he can’t die here. Lucifer wouldn’t have left such an obvious loophole. He focuses on holding on. It’s all he can do. 

When he’s gripped from behind by strong arms around his waist and he’s wrenched from Lucifer’s hold and thrown down on the ground, to one side, he thinks it isn’t enough, that it’s too late. His eyes slip closed and he breathes heavily, trying to get the energy to move; to get up and fight. After perhaps half a minute he feels a body thump down beside him and he almost cries out in despair. He’s failed Dean. He’s failed Sam.

He doesn’t want to look but he knows he must. He turns his head and opens his eyes but what he sees is a relief. Dean’s by his side, holding Lucifer’s medallion, frantically scratching at the symbols on the soft gold surface with a knife, breaking the lines on the carving. Lucifer is nowhere to be seen. Dean puts the ruined medallion into his shirt’s breast pocket, grips Castiel’s hand with one of his own, and the vial of Castiel’s grace with the other. 

“Ready?” Dean asks.

\--xxx--

His eyes flicker briefly open on the pillow, and are met by Dean’s wide, green-flecked gaze. Dean’s hand lies between them on the pillow, gripping the vial of his grace tightly in his fist. Castiel manages to whisper a painful “How…?” but he doesn’t hear the answer, or even finish the question.

~~~

He wakes up again. Almost. He catches snippets of conversation. He tries to understand, but although the voices sound worried and concerned he doesn’t sense any immediate threat or urgency. The rich timbre of Dean’s voice intermingles with Sam’s, younger and higher, both voices quiet, like a loud whisper. He thinks they are trying not to wake him which must mean that they’re safe.

“Cas?” Dean says, as Castiel blacks out. 

~~~

He listens to his breaths, in and out, counting time in a linear, sequential way that is tiresome. He hears someone else, Dean, breathing near him, in sync with him, slow and steady, blowing little puffs of air across his cheek. He falls back to sleep without opening his eyes.

~~~

He’s gathered in against another body, his upper body resting on a solid chest, strong arms keeping him in place. Dean. He’s too hot really, but he doesn’t mind, so he sleeps.

~~~

He wakes up feeling mostly refreshed. Waking from slumber, rather than drifting into consciousness. His eyes feel gritty and his chest aches, but only slightly. The room’s quiet so he simply lies there for a while. The sigils carved in his arm are stinging slightly but when he reaches out to try and heal them, the throbbing in his chest from his over-reached grace gets worse so he leaves it. 

The room’s empty but he suspects either Dean or Sam won’t be too far away, so he swings himself out of the bed slowly and makes his way to the motel room door and daylight. Dean’s outside, leaning against the Impala, waiting for him, it seems. Dean’s holding the small vial loosely in his hand.

“Little Cas told me you were awake, but I thought I’d give you time.” Dean looks him up and down and raises an eyebrow. “Dude, you are maybe a little underdressed for being out in public.”

Castiel glances down at the dark boxers that are all he wears, and with a thought, after a delay, manages his usual shirt and pants. It was harder than it should have been.

Dean looks concerned but he doesn’t comment.

“Where’s Sam?” asks Castiel glancing around, trying to catch up.

“Store run.” Castiel nods and walks to join Dean leaning on the car. 

“What happened, Dean? How did you get there?”

Dean waved the vial “Little Cas here did it.”

“That is not a mini version of me.” Castiel feels he should point this out before it gets annoying.

“Yeah, well, whatever. Fact is, we’d been trying and trying to pull you out…” 

Realization dawns on Castiel and he finishes Dean’s sentence “…so you let it pull you in instead? I didn’t anticipate it working in two directions.” 

“Yeah, well, Sam figured it out; so I just lay down and thought real hard for Little Cas to find you.”

Castiel tilts his head. “You’re more connected to it than I thought you would be; than you should be.”

Dean hesitates. “So you didn’t answer my question. That stuff Lucifer said...about me not liking you or mourning you or…anyway, that stuff. You know I … well, you know I do, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“What, you couldn’t have just said that at the time. Jeez, Cas. We could have saved ourselves the chick-flick moment, here.”

Castiel feels a glimmer of humor at the exasperated expression on Dean’s face. “And where would the fun be in that?” Dean grumbles good-naturedly in the back of his throat in response. Castiel can’t remember the last time he felt this secure. 

“So,” Dean says, fingering the vial of Cas’ grace, “do you want it back?”

“Do you want to return it?”

“Um. Actually, no. I … can I keep it?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, but of course, it can’t last.

“Cas?”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t’ think Lucifer’s done, do you?”

Castiel shrugs. “I honestly don’t know.”

“I can tell you’re worried,” Dean says, lowering his eyes pointedly towards the vial.

Castiel stares at Dean for a few seconds before he sighs and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean, I’m always worried.” He gives a sad smile. “Little Cas will tell you that.”


End file.
